Still
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [Slash, Style, will eventually be changed to M]. In which a lighthearted prank pulls apart two best friends.
1. The Broken Streetlamp

"We used to be friends," I tell him softly. "Him and I, we used to be friends. But I guess somewhere we went wrong."

"You can still fix things though, can't you?" he asks, his blond hair shining as we walk past a streetlamp. "The night's young. I'm sure everyone'll be here awhile, still."

But honestly, I don't think anything can change at this point. It's been so many years since I've last talked to him, and this school reunion thing is the only reason why I'm presented the opportunity to make amends with him. But at this point we've split ways too long ago to actually make things better once more, and honestly deep down inside I doubt the need to even reconcile with my old best friend.

So, I tell Kenneth McKormick exactly that.

"I told you, the night's still young. Just give it a try, won't you?"

I stop in my stride and turn to the fully-grown man. "Ken…" is all I can muster, glaring into his pale blue eyes with my own emerald ones. "Ken, no…. No, I won't."

**Still  
**_Zakuyoe  
_Chapitre Un: The Broken Streetlamp

"Come on, Bubee, scoot closer to Stan…. Kie-yole, you won't fit in the picture!"

I frown at the plump woman—though I would never make such a comment in front of her face—that I call my mother, and with a slight scowl on my face I comply with her request. I can feel the raven-haired boy beside me shift uncomfortably, which gives me generous doses of internal laughter. Though seriously, it isn't like we're going to our first prom together….

We were definitely _not_ going to prom that afternoon… and definitely _not_ together.

I explain to my Jewish mother my thought process, and she merely laughs. "Oh, Bubee, that's ridiculous. Is it wrong for a mother to take pictures of her son?"

"Not really," I mutter, fixing my tie. "But why in this attire? And why'd you have me invite Stan?"

"Well," my mom begins, and it's that instant I know she's about to explain some crazy concept to me. "I was looking through the old albums the other day—"

"Oh God," I utter.

She glares at me before continuing. "—and I happened to notice you've got absolutely no pictures with your best friend. So…."

"You decided that I should probably have some?" I finish and she nods. Figures… although, that still doesn't explain why we had to do this with suits and ties….

Kenny and Cartman are going to laugh about this later, I am almost sure.

I turn to Stan. "You okay, dude? You seem awfully quiet." He smiles at my groundbreaking discovery, and I turn red for even making such a comment. Kyle Broflovski, the near-genius, stating the obvious—Cartman would probably have a laugh at that, too.

Stan chuckles. "I'm fine, dude. I'm kinda used to this whole thing already, so… yeah. My mom went through this phase when I took Wendy to Homecoming last fall." Sometimes I really do admire my alleged best friend (not that he isn't, though) for the way he just lets things happen as they occur. Sure, when he thinks something's morally wrong he'll stand up to it, but for the most part he'll just sit back and deal with problems that happen to come his way. Granted that that really doesn't happen too often, but still….

"But we're not going to Homecoming—or any dance, for that matter!—and especially not together!"

"Kie-yole, just scoot it so I can finish taking the picture," snaps my mother, and it's only just dawned to me that she hasn't even taken the picture she attempted to take a good five minutes ago. Sighing, I lean even closer into the boy beside me, and as I do my utter best to smile nicely for the camera I can feel an arm snake around my waist. Before I can do anything, however, the picture is taken, and immediately as I turn to Stan the arm releases me.

"Dude!" I exclaim, backing away.

Stan smirks at my reaction. "The picture was only from the waist up, I think. Your mom probably didn't even get a picture of it." From a distance my mom confirms his statement. "Seriously, Kyle, you're really homo—"

"No I'm not!" I exclaim, jumping backward. "I'm not gay!"

"Relax," he says, and again he shakes his head. Huh?—what just happened? "I wasn't calling you gay or anything like that."

"But you said I was homo—"

"Phobic, dude. Homophobic." I stare down at my feet in embarrassment as he pushes me slowly out the door to my own house. Granted that Kenny and Cartman are probably waiting for us by now, Stan opens the door to his car and leads me in, closing the door before walking to his own side. Yet it's only when he ignites the engine when I realize how pathetic I'm being, unable to even enter someone's car without needing help, all because of my jumping to conclusions.

No, I'm really not homophobic, nor do I think I'm homosexual, but I'm almost sure that now Stan will think I am. Figures.

My mom yells something incoherent from the door as we drive away, and in the awkwardness of a silence Stan turns on the radio. It's some rap song—_rap is crap_, as I've always said—but nevertheless I sit back and ignore my small distaste for his music.

Instead, I turn to Stan once more. "I apologize again for my mother's random… urge to take a picture of the two of us."

"Tis fine, dude," he says, coming to a stop as he reaches that familiar, red, octagonal sign. "I told you, I'm used to moms wanting pictures and stuff. Beside, I kinda figured that she had a valid point."

"What, why?" I exclaim, pouting. "You agree with that woman's reasoning for taking pictures of us in suits and ties? Dude, I swear, it might even be one of her creepy feti—"

"I do," he replies, and instantly, for some reason, my mind flashes a picture of a woman in a bridal gown. "I mean seriously though, why _wouldn't_ you want a picture with me? Looking _this_ good, I mean." I laugh at his foolish confidence as he points down at his lower regions—though that's probably just his stomach he's pointing at and not other things—and even though he's being his cocky self I can't help but to agree with him.

"I s'pose so, then," I mutter. "I'm sure I'll probably find it useful later on in life. Like, when I'm eighty-six trying to remember who to call for bail."

"Why the hell would you wanna be that old in jail?" Stan asks, earning a light punch on my part.

But you never know. I might end up dying in a prison.

-

"What fags," is the first thing I hear when Stan and I arrive at Shakey's Pizza. Granted my more-plump-than-my-mother friend's such insults are probably the reason why I've become way too conscious about even the most lighthearted comments, not to mention Kenny—the blond, somewhat-poor kid—has an affinity for occasions accompanied by perverted comments and has a tendency to do just that.

Stan and I take the matter two different ways. I personally try my best to get the two of them to stop, but I've definitely proven that it's part of their personalities (and thus I will never stop hearing their teamed efforts on calling us a gay couple). Given that that's probably why Stan thinks I'm homophobic, I don't take Kenny's perverseness or Cartman's _'faggy'_ insults too well.

Stan, on the other hand, likes to play along, which only annoys me all the more—but for some reason it doesn't bother me _as_ much as the other two boys' attempts. Not to say that I completely let it slide, since, given my reaction only moments earlier with my mom's photo fetish, I do still react with all my self-consciousness. But, Stan holding my hand playfully doesn't bother me on the inside as much as I know it should.

That's why when Stan takes my hand (clearly dramatic) and caresses it with his free hand, I do nothing but retract slowly after he's finished.

"Seriously, though," Kenny says as he observes my awkwardness. "How the hell does Wendy put up with you, dude?—having to compete with Kyle to get your attention?"

"She doesn't know," Stan says with a laugh, but with such a straight face I have to remind myself he's only kidding.

I think.

"She'll get all my attention later, anyway," he adds, giving that smirk that I thought I'd only see on Kenny's face. Though, as Kenny nods his head in satisfaction, I can't help but to wonder if he's being serious that time around. Sure, Stan's been dating Wendy for four years now (save me from the story behind it, though, especially since it's too much drama for my liking), but I still think it'd be against his moralistic values to actually do… it… with her.

_Moralistic values_…? That sounds so stupid.

Our waiter—incidentally, Craig—decides to interrupt. "Hello, guys, my name's Craig—"

"We know, dumbass," Cartman interjects.

"—and I'll be serving you today," he continues, not pausing despite Cartman's remark. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Sprite," Stan says automatically.

"We only have Pepsi products, so would Sierra Mist be fine with you?"

"Sure," replies Stan dismissively. "I can't tell the difference, anyway."

"I'll have a root beer float, then," Cartman says, licking his lips. Leave it to him to order something like that, though I know his actual order will be a lot worse.

"Water's fine by me," I mutter. Then, as everyone looks at him, Kenny says the same thing.

"I'll be right out with your drinks," Craig says, turning around and heading into the backrooms. Once he's gone, three completely different things are said.

"Okay guys, I think Craig's officially a fag."  
"Kenny, why did you ask for water?"  
"I just realized the two of you are wearing tuxes."

Being as I'm the only one who hadn't spoken, I take the awkward silence afterward to laugh quietly, causing three boys to glare in my direction. I might as well be the only one to have actually heard all three things….

"Wanna try this again?" asks Kenny, smirk on his face. "Me, then Stan, then Cartman."

"Ay!" Cartman yells, loud enough for an old couple several booths down to give us quite the glare. "Ay, why the hell do I have to be last?"

"Dunno," Kenny replies. "Okay… so yeah. I've only just realized the two of you were wearing tuxes." My eyes grow open at the mentioning, and indeed as I look down at myself I see a familiar dress shirt—that incidentally is _not_ a tuxedo—and the accompanying black dress pants.

"You guys," interjects Cartman, "I think Stan and Kahl thought they were goin' on a _date_!"

"Shut the hell up, fatass," I mutter. "No, it's… a long story…."

"Yeah," says Stan, and I'm relieved he didn't try fueling their comments as he normally does. "So, erm… I said something like how I find it weird that Kenny's ordering water."

Kenny frowns—a rarity as it is. "It's the only thing I can order," he says, pointing sadly at his mouth. "My tooth hurts, and my Pa says it's a cavity. Thing is, we don't got the funds to really get me some dental work, so for now he told me to just avoid sweet things—which is pretty much every soft drink in existence."

"Oh," Stan replies quietly, and a silence sets in. In a way I do feel bad for the boy, how he had no say in growing up in a poor family, how he was always excluded from things, how he couldn't do half the stuff he wanted to… yet somehow he had been able to purchase a PSP the instant in became available in stores.

For once, Cartman's voice is actually wanted. "Well, guys, what I was saying, I think we can officially call Craig—" but he doesn't get a chance to finish as Craig arrives with our said drinks. Cartman growls something nasty under his breath, but as I look toward Craig it appears he hadn't caught it.

"Are you ready with your orders?" Craig asks, looking amongst the four of us.

With Cartman ready to piss off about Craig's unusual politeness (it's part of his job requirement, though I don't think Cartman realizes it) and Kenny abstaining from his sweet cravings (though we _are_ at a pizza restaurant), I turn to Stan, who smiles at me and nods his head. In the end, as Cartman begins listing his four meal orders, I manage to conclude one thing.

The night is indeed still young. And there's still room for many things to happen yet.

-

I suppose I do regret saying such a thing. Especially once everyone's already gone their separate ways.

We return the same we came—that is, Kenny riding home with Cartman, and me with Stan. The familiar crap is playing on his stereo as he makes his way toward my house. Granted, though, that he has to peer at the mailboxes on the left side of his street once he gets closer to my house, since for some random reason the streetlamp in front of my house never seems to work.

Though, you'd think it'd be easy to find my house, since that light's the only one that doesn't work. I suppose you could tell that to Stan, though.

"You should probably turn the music down, though," I tell him, pointing at the volume control. "I'm sure there're some anal parents out there not keen on hearing crap at ten thirty in the evening."

Stan glares at me from the corner of his eye. "Bullshit, dude. That's just a lame excuse to not hear my music. You don't see _me_ complaining about your music, do you?"

I shrug. "Still, I'm sure once you pass Tweek's house it'll be a complete mess." Laughing and sighing—both at once, almost—Stan reaches forward and turns down the volume.

And completely misses my house.

"Ah fuck," he curses, craning his neck over as the broken headlight moves further and further away in his review mirror—not that he's actually using it. "I s'pose I should make a U-turn then."

"Nah, don't worry about it," I reply, shrugging. "Just go to your house."

"You wanna sleep over or something?"

I snort. "Are you kiddin' me? I'm not sleeping while this tie refuses to stop choking me." I glance at Stan as he slows down to pull into his own driveway. "I can just walk home, you know. It's not that far."

"If you say so," says Stan, though there's really nothing he can do since he's already at his own house. "As long as I get to walk you home."

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Why, dude?" Though, as much as I wouldn't mind, it'd probably only give Cartman more of a reason to call us a gay couple. "It's not that far. I can walk by myself."

"That's just it," he says. "It's not that far anyway, so I might as well walk you home. It's the least I can do for completely missing your house." With a smile I nod, and as the two of us exit his car we begin our rather short walk to my place. "You know, though," Stan adds as he begins undoing his tie. "If you hadn't complained about the volume of my music I wouldn't have missed your house."

"So you're blaming it on me then?" I ask playfully and he nods.

"Definitely your fault this time, Kyle Broflovski. Actually, I think it's al—"

I interrupt him with a scream, and as he stops in his tracks and in his sentence I cling onto him and point at something in the distance. "What the hell is that?" I ask, though I swear I'm not scared.

Well maybe I am… but just a little… really.

"Don't worry about it," Stan mutters, but I don't think my actions are convincing him any. "It's only a raccoon."

"That's much too big for a raccoon!" I exclaim, but as it passes under the light I realize he's right. "Dude, that's a fucking huge raccoon…."

"There're always those exceptional few, you know?" he says, and that smirk on his face cues me in on a comment almost worthy for Kenny's own mouth. "There're always be those bigger than others. Personally I think I'm one of them."

"Probably not," I chuckle, though I seem to offend him.

"Kyle," he exclaims in a seemingly shocked voice. "Kyle Broflovski, I think because of that comment you are thus undeserving to hold my hand. I ask that you please let go."

Wait… I'm still…?—oh crap, I am.

"Fine," I snap, covering up my forgetfulness to let go of Stan once the raccoon had passed. "Your palms are sweaty anyway." Our lighthearted insults continue on for a few more minutes, each insult becoming slowly more and more vulgar and perverse, but as soon as the lights around us fade so does our reason to continue insulting each other.

We're under the broken streetlight. And in front of my house.

"So we're here," he says quietly, and though I know I should probably head inside as to not worry my mother, for some reason I'm rooted to the spot.

"Guess so," I reply.

"So dude," he says, and I think he moves somewhere in the darkness. It's rather pathetic, since the area isn't _totally_ dark, but somehow I still can't see much of him. "When will I _ever_ get to see that fro-infested face of yours?"

"Shut up!" I exclaim in a hushed whisper, my self-consciousness kicking in once more. Granted, of course, that I didn't appreciate in the least bit the massive fro of red hair I had inherited from my Jewish genes….

"You gotta appreciate it more, though," Stan mutters, and suddenly I feel his arm around my shoulders. "It's rather nice. It makes you… you."

Uh… okay…. "Thanks? I s'pose that's a compliment."

"I meant it to be one," Stan says sadly. "Sorry if I offended you."

"Not at all, dude." I reply, smiling. He bumps into me slightly, kinda carelessly, but it does give me a hint as to where he is. I turn to him in the dark, meeting his gaze and frowning as his arm removes itself from my shoulder. "Okay, uh, Stan. I think this is totally gay."

He takes my hand and smirks. "No, _this_ is gay."—and he raises my hand and kisses the back of it lightly. Squirming I'm back away, only earning a laugh from him. "Seriously, I really do think you're homophobic."

"I swear I'm not," I reply quietly.

I don't think he believes me though, even though I am telling the truth, and as he steps closer I find myself backing into the street. "So what exactly is it that you find so gay?"

I clear my throat. "Well, us… standing in the dark… being this close to each other."

Stan snorts. "Yep, you're definitely homophobic." He blows a kiss at me and gives a wave. "So, I'll see you tomorrow at school?"

I purposely act unfazed at his action just to prove a point. "I suppose so." And with that he walks back into the light, leaving me alone in the darkness of my house. But as I'm thinking about it, I don't think I had to act, really….

I frown as I search my pockets for my keys. Not that they're missing or anything, but… since when did Stan's tie land around my neck?

_**- fin -  
**__(for now)_

_I'm officially done with my junior year of high school, and since exams are over I've decided to start writing once again. Consider this my summer project… and I swear I'll finish this story before summer ends (hopefully)!_

_Just in case you couldn't tell, that part before the story title is part of the story, and is actually in the future. Sorry for my horrible tenses, but writing this story entirely in present is so much easier... _

_The rating will eventually change to M, since I am planning for this story to have a rather smutty ending. But for now, enjoy the T rating, won't you? And review while you're at it._

_As for my other stories… expect updates only for __**The Curious Moves**__. I haven't been getting many reviews for my other stories, and since I'm under the impression you guys don't like them I won't waste my time continuing them._

_So please review this? I do encourage you to, especially if you want this continued._

_**- Zak -**_


	2. The Lucky Snowfall

"So that's it?" Kenneth asks me as I open my wallet. "Stan looks pretty damn hot in it." I only glare at my blond friend, though staring at him doesn't seem to do me any good. He peers into the details of the picture for quite some time, and after a while—close to a minute—he turns to me once more. "It's still a pretty decent picture, you know."

I nod in his direction. "Yeah, it is. There's another picture of the two of us somewhere, but I have no idea where it is. But otherwise… yeah. This is the only picture I have." Though, I add silently to myself, I'm not sure yet if that's a good thing or not.

Kenneth frowns. "That's really strange, though. I mean, you two were really good friends. Why would you only have one picture together?"

"Two," I correct him, sighing. "But I suppose I never liked cameras to begin with. Not to mention I had hideous hair back then…." Though, as I run a few fingers through my head, I realize I still have that hideous hair—only that now it's a lot shorter.

"Not everyone thought your hair was hideous," Kenneth reminds me. "I didn't think so."

I heave a heavy sigh and frown. "Neither did Stan."

**Still  
**_Zakuyoe  
_Chapitre Deux: The Lucky Snowfall

Every year, usually around October or November, our small city of South Park becomes rather excited. Kids can't stop talking about it. Parents can't stop complaining about it. Old folks can't stop telling the world how they don't really care about it.

Yes, the residents of South Park fret when the first snowflakes of winter fall.

Not so much myself though, as I think I've seen the sight too many times to actually care about it. But despite my own feelings toward snow, the town in general was a lot more of a cheerier place.

That being said, it thus becomes unsurprising that Officer Barbrady lets Stan off the hook with nothing more than a "warning."

"Just don't do it again," he says before leaving us to his car. Stan doesn't drive off immediately, despite the idea that we're running late as it is, but I suppose he wouldn't be someone to care about his tardiness.

It's only after Barbrady drives off when Stan turns on the engine and makes his way to school once more. "Man," he says, smiling at me as he gives a relieved sigh. "Man, I really do love first snowfall, sometimes."

"Why?" I mutter. "I don't really see what's so special about it." Stan gapes at me unexplainably as I shrug. "It's just snow…."

"Aw, come on, dude!" Stan explains, roughing my shoulder playfully. "Your childhood wasn't _that_ long ago, dude! I mean seriously, there's got to be at least one year where you enjoyed the snow!" Our school comes into plain sight as he continues, though the more he speaks the more I feel like exiting the car. "This day marks the day kids can start making snow angels on the ground, when kids can make snowmen and hurl snowballs at each other, when parents can begin complaining of all the snow needing to be shoveling…."

"I get it," I snap in an exasperated voice—anything to get him to stop. With a minute until the bell he pulls into the first available parking slot, and as I climb out of his car he calls my attention from the other side.

"It's also supposed to be a really lucky day," Stan tells me, though I'm only half listening as my mind darts towards the consequences of being late… again. "Trust me Kyle; at the end of the day I'm sure you'll find _something_ that'll make you appreciate today a bit more."

"Whatever, Stan," I say, shrugging him off. "Now I'm gonna go before I'm late." And as I wave some sort of farewell in his direction I pick up to a jog. This would be the third tardy in a row because of Stan, and I'm sure my teacher wouldn't be too pleased to hear yet another excuse. Though really, if only Stan would stop picking me up at 7:15 in the morning, especially since I keep telling him to get me forty-five minutes earlier.

Still, there really isn't anything I can do, especially since the bell rings before I'm able to sneak into my classroom. I grin nervously at Mr. Bennett—my first period chemistry teacher—but before I can open my mouth to excuse myself he gives me a freakish grin and shoos me to my seat.

"I won't mark you down," he says with a cheery voice, and without question I place my stuff down by my desk. "Now class, where were we? Periodicity, I think?"

Maybe Stan _is_ right with his whole lucky theory…. Though, I'm sure it's more of the neighbors-fretting-about-snow thing than it is luck. It's true that Stan got out of his speeding ticket and I got out of yet another tardy, but that had only been because the authorities were "fretting" and didn't bother to place such a incriminating penalty on someone on the day's first snowfall—whether it be a speeding ticket or a tardy slip.

Clearly, though, today _must_ be a happy day. After all, if even _Cartman _is being nice to me, then this first snowfall thing must be a good deal. Though, it doesn't seem any less boring than most other school days, and although I honestly do love school as much as people say, I do get bored pretty easily. And by the time lunch rolls in I begin to doubt that there's anything special about today at all.

"Broflovski, take off that hideous hat!"

Like that, for example. But in all honesty, I do believe the hair underneath would look so much worse….

"Kyle!" Stan greets from what I believe is the other side of the cafeteria—either he can yell quite loudly or I just have an amazing sense of hearing.

However, I choose not to respond to him until he's actually in hearing range. "You're wrong."

"What?"

"I said you're wrong," I reiterate a bit more slowly. "There's nothing lucky or special or anything like that—except people being freakishly nicer to me."

"Hey Kosher-boy," says Cartman, who's just arrived and pulled open a chair. "Here you are, Kahl." I glare at him before looking down at the seat, scanning it with my eyes as if expecting there to be some sort of hidden contraption waiting for me to fall victim to. However, with about five seconds passing, I decide Cartman's done nothing to it.

And actually, I'm right.

"Why couldn't _I_ have _my_ seat pulled for me?" says Stan in a mocking voice, but he laughs when he looks to find his chair already waiting for him. I think Stan half-expects to see Wendy beaming at him, as she usually does random yet helpful things for Stan (so to say, almost as if she were the guy in the relationship, doing everything for the girl—or otherwise, Stan); but a surprise it becomes to all of us (though I'm not sure why Cartman and I are actually surprised, since we _did_ see the blond approaching) when it's actually Kenny. "Thanks, Ken."

"No problem, dude," Kenny says, seating himself onto his own chair. "You know, I think today's one of those… good days… if you know what I mean."

"Don't we all," I manage to sputter though it appears only Stan can sense my distaste. "I still don't see the big fuss about today, really."

I ignore Stan's frown. "But seriously," Kenny continues, "I feel like I might actually get laid, for once."

"Goddamnit, poor boy, you said that last year!" Cartman exclaims. "And besides, what the hell do you mean _for once_?"

"Yeah, dude!" Stan adds. "That's something Cartman would say!"

I laugh at the scowl upon Cartman's face, but Kenny's voice drowns whatever comeback Cartman may've said. "I dunno what it is, really. But whether I get laid or not, I'm just feeling lucky…."

And of course, this is where I happen to interrupt in a loud tone, challenging the three other guys at the table—and soon to be three guys and a girl—what exactly made today so lucky. If I had picked up anything at all from the course of the day I had learned that people were unusually jolly—but I hadn't seen a trace of luck anywhere. As I tried explaining my case to the group the only thing I got had been laughter in unison.

"Dude, that's what makes it so lucky!" Stan exclaims, grasping Wendy's hand as if just noticing she were there. "Lucky for us, at least… the fact that everyone's happy makes them do good stuff for other people!"

Kenny nods. "I'd bet at least a quarter of the relationships in South Park began on the first snowfall. It's just how it is, dude…."

Cartman makes some sort of pat on my back, which at first scares the living hell out of me, but soon it proves not so bad…. "Oh, which reminds me," adds Wendy, smiling brightly. "Now that you guys are talking about relationships, I was actually going to invite Kyle here—" She points toward Kyle, though a suspicious glint appears in the back of Stan's blue eyes "—on a date with—"

"Wendy!" Stan protests, but Wendy tightens her grip on Stan.

"—on a date with Bebe," Wendy concludes, earning several rounds of hoots from both Kenny and… well, Kenny.

"Why me?" is all I can utter after Kenny finishes. And now that I think of it, why the hell would the most popular, blonde, and ditzy cheerleader want a date with me—the supposedly nerdy and Jewish boy with gigantic hair? Still, I suppose I do have some connection to that top level in that social hierarchy from both Stan and Kenny, though that just might be why she wants to use me… to get close to them….

"Well," Wendy begins, "she said she wanted to give someone like you a try. Like someone who doesn't continuously think about sports and stuff along those lines."

I repeat her words. "Someone like me?"

"Don't shoot the messenger, Kyle, I'm just repeating what she said." She casts an arm around her boyfriend seated in front of her as she flashes me a smile. "If it makes you feel better we can make it a double date, and Stan and I can come with you for moral support and stuff."

I laugh, and as I cast my gaze downward to meet Stan he smiles and nods his head. "I suppose I could give it a try, then."

"Good," Wendy says happily. "I'll tell her you're picking her up at eight, then!" And before I can change the time of our date she flounces off to another table. I bite my lip as I turn back to the rest of the guys; why in the world had I just agreed? It's not like I saw anything in ditzy cheerleaders to begin with and though she was blonde and had nice eyes it wasn't something I was interested in.

Cartman seems to have the same train of thought. "Kahl, I can't believe you just did that."

"Why the hell not?" asks Kenny from his area of the table. "I mean dude, you're so frickin' lucky, you know? I'm almost positive by the time the night ends you'll have banged the hottest cheerleader at this school!" Though, as he takes a bite into whatever the hell he's eating, I can't help but to cringe at that thought.

Stan smiles at that thought. "See, Kyle, there's your proof. Today's a lucky day."

Sighing I gather my things and shake my head. "Anything but lucky, actually… now I'm out of here."—and I leave before any of them can stop me.

-

"Oh, my Bubee is growing up to be so old!" my mother exclaims as I fit on a bowtie. Yes, that is indeed a bowtie—a brilliant red one, at that—and though I know absolutely no one wears those things anymore I'm wearing one anyway. I think some time ago, while I was scavenging for clothes, Ike warned me that wearing a bowtie for a casual date wasn't the wisest of ideas, but I figured that since I didn't really care about the date too much I might as well have fun with things.

"Mom, it's not like this is my first date," I remind her, my mind flashing back to Rebecca's face—Rebecca being the local home-schooled girl whom I, for some reason, had a major crush on for quite a while. Though, obviously, things didn't work out in the end, and now that girl absolutely terrifies me whenever I see her.

"Yes, Kie-yole, but it's so exciting to see you dress up for a girl like this. Oh, I _must_ take a picture of this!" I shake my head and sigh as she darts off (I snigger guiltlessly at the fat that dangles on each side), and as I check my watch I shrug. I was supposed to be ready ten minutes ago, not to mention Stan was supposed to pick me up at that time, but I suppose it means I'm _technically_ not late.

My mom returns with a camera once more, and as I smile that familiar flash blinds my eyes. Now that I think of it, as I watch my mother set the camera by a flowerpot near the entrance, all the pictures in my most recent photo album will probably have me dressed up for the occasion.

"You look so _handsome_," she compliments, and I raise my eyebrows.

"Okay… uh, mom?" my voice hesitates as she gives me her attention. "When you and dad met… your first date together."

"Oh Kie-yole, I remember it like yesterday! It was _so_ romantic, the snow falling for the first time, how we danced in the falling snow, your father slipping on his clumsy feet…."

On the first snowfall… damnit, Kenny's right.

The doorbell rings and I run open to answer it. "Sorry we're late, Mrs. Broflovski," Wendy apologizes once I've got the door open. Then, turning to me, she adds. "Kyle, you're looking good!"

"Thanks… I manage to reply.

"Not a problem, Wendy," my mother says moments later, raising an eyebrow as she approached the two of us. "Kie-yole, I thought you were taking Bebe?"

"It's a double date," Wendy explains for me. "I've got Stan waiting for me in his car." I smile at my mother's expression, as she probably didn't quite understand the point to a double date (nor did I, really, though I'm told it's for "moral support"), but soon enough her facial expression changes to that happy one once more.

"Why don't you ask Stan to step inside so I can take a picture of the four of you?" she offers, reaching for her camera.

"_No_!" I exclaim, eyes growing wide, and perhaps a little too early. Then, as both women look at me, I chuckle nervously. "Uh… we can't, mom. We still have to pick up Bebe and we're late as it is."

"Oh fine," she says, ushering us out of the door frame. "Now you children behave… and Kie-yole, be back by ten!"

"Sure mom," I say, dismissing her. The two of us walk in silence as we make our way to the broken streetlight, where Stan's waiting for us (impatiently, as it seems), and as we climb inside he starts the engine and drives off. Interestingly enough Stan doesn't turn on his c_rap_py music as he always does with me, and I begin to wonder if he does it because of Wendy.

It isn't long before we reach Bebe's house (since South Park is too small to call any journey within it "long"), and as we pull over at the side of her house I unbuckle my seatbelt. "I s'pose I should go get her, then?"

"Yep," says Stan. "Why don't you take that hat off, dude? It looks kinda odd with that bowtie of yours."

I chuckle, and then frown. "But my hair's hideous. Have you seen it?"

"No it isn't," Stan says with an irritated tone. "For the last time, Kyle, that makes you who you are." And there it is—or at least, I think it is…. "Now go get 'er, tiger. Oh, and hey, Kyle!" and as I turn around he adds, "Take these!" and before I know it I'm tossed a bouquet of flowers.

"And these are…?"

"From me to you," Stan replies, laughing at my reactions. "But seriously, Mr. Homophobia, I figured you weren't going to get Bebe anything, so I did the gift shopping for you."

"Thanks," I reply, smiling as I look at the flowers. And smiling all the more, as I shut the car door I've neglected to close, I add, "And I'm not homophobic!" I can only hear Stan's chuckle as I make my way to Bebe's front door. Yes, though I am indeed book smart, I do still have social skills (contrary to popular belief), and so approaching the door and waiting for Bebe to come out of it isn't as scary as it seems.

Bebe greets me with a nonchalant gaze, but it still takes quite a while to get her to the car. Granted, she wants her heels fitted perfectly, her jacket to match the falling snow perfectly (how hard is it to get a white coat?), and her hair to be in this perfect "bun"—which I suppose means to keep her hair up in a bundle, or something.

"Looking great, hot stuff," she says coyly, and I scowl in the darkness. But then, as we approach Stan's car, I quickly twist that frown into a smile. After all, I wouldn't want Stan or Wendy to think I wasn't enjoying myself… even if I really hated this idea. Besides, seeing Stan see me scowl beside the supposed hottest cheerleader at our school will probably only convince him that I'm gay… because I'm not.

"You too," I manage to compliment in response, and she enters a fit of giggles… as expected. Smiling, I reach for the car's side door and open it, ushering a very satisfied Bebe into the car.

I sigh as Stan makes some offhand joke at me, but I turn to Bebe and flash what may be one of the most fake smiles I've ever given at her. Still, as we pull away to some far away restaurant (I think), I can't help but to wonder how lucky I may actually be for dating Bebe.

Okay, maybe not so lucky. But I s'pose it'll give me hard evidence that I _don't_ like Stan.

Though, there was always that phrase that Kenny always said to me….

-

"It doesn't matter what people say about your hair, dude," Kenneth tells me as we turn tail back toward where the actual school reunion is taking place. "Even now, I think that Jewfro of yours looked much better than this new… style… you've got goin' on now."

"Oh?" I ask, curiously. "I kinda cut it off because people kept telling me it looked bad…."

"You've got me and Stan," Kenneth says with a smile. "Your friends liked it."

"Old friends," I correct. "Well, not really you, but I haven't seen Stan since… since…." I decide to stop talking before making a fool of myself, even though stuttering like a maniac qualifies for exactly that.

"I get it," Kenneth mutters, sadly. "But really, dude, just give him a—" but he never gets to finish as a shrill voice rings through the open atmosphere. We both look ahead of us at a woman—somewhat skinny of a woman, at that—running toward us despite her heels. Kenneth immediately smiles at the figure, but it takes a few more seconds of squinting through snowflakes falling to see who it is. "Hey, Wendy!" says Kenneth as she arrives. "It's cold out here. What're you doing out here?"

"Looking for Kyle, actually," she replies, my eyes growing wide. _Me…_? "Uh, I came out here because, err… Stan was looking for you and didn't know where to find you."

"Tell him I went home early," I snap at her.

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! Besides, I think you should… you know… forgive Stan and stuff."

I scoff. "Why the hell should I?—and wait, you _know_ about what happened?" Kenneth immediately breaks into laughter, and it's then I wonder how many people actually knew about what had happened. Granted, Stan had many connections, but I didn't think it had gotten that public….

Wendy nods and sighs. "You know I used to date Stan, right?—he had to break up with me before he… before…."

"So that's how you knew, then?" I ask demandingly, and she nods. "I see…."

"Kyle… Stan and I are good friends now, despite the fact he broke up with me to play some prank. I'm just thinking… you should do the same." And with that she's gone. I stare at where she's left for some time, as if expecting her to come back and change her mind, but when I realize she's not returning I sigh, shaking my head.

A hand comes upon my shoulder. "I think you should do it."

"Even if I were to do it," I mutter, "I doubt Stan won't take it so well. I'm sure he hates me by now, even if the whole thing's his fault…." I get no response—only another tap on my shoulder, and as I turn to Kenneth he points up at the sky.

"You see that?" he asks, and I half-expect to see a shooting star. Though, once I tell him, I find out I'm wrong. "It's snow."

"What about it?" I ask, frowning. "It's just snow…."

"Aw, come on," Kenneth says, and that smirk on his face tells me something nasty… though hopefully not so much. "It wasn't _that_ long ago, dude…." He sighs and walks me back toward the main building (of the reunion), his arm still around me. "It's the first time this winter."

And then I find myself shaking my head and smiling. Maybe there is a chance at making amends, then… though I still don't really want to.

Unless, of course, Kenneth had been referring to some subliminal perverted joke… in which case…  
Ew, I do _not_ want to get laid by Stan.

_**- fin -  
**__(for now)_

_Ugh, god, I hate this chapter. It's more to explain and set the stage for the climax. But even if I hate it, I better still get a decent amount of reviews from all of you._

_Just to let you know, the main setting is in the "future." All these portions of the past will go away, I promise… bah, I've confused myself._

_But, I at least know the climax! And, eh, the reason Kyle hates Stan and vice versa._

_Anyway, please do leave a review. It determines my condition of happiness, and it also fuels my motivation to continue writing._

_**- Zak -**_


	3. Proving Homophobia

Pushing those doors open reveals to me a magnificent chamber. It's filled with people, some whom I recognize, and others whom I don't, but supposedly they all are connected to me in that we all went to the same school. Perhaps the interesting part about this reunion—and all other school reunions in general—is that you can't begin to imagine how all these people went to your high school at one point, and yet you can't even recognize half of them.

Personally I recognize a great deal of people, though only because I had hung around Stan for quite some time, but I'm interesting in stopping for none of those people. Frankly, the only person I'm interested in meeting is a man sitting at the bar, suit loosely buttoned, eyes somewhat downcast, and fingers fidgeting upon the glass of wine in his hand. Gulping, and then sighing, I take a seat next to the man, pulling out my wallet to order a drink.

I wait for the drink, and then start drinking it, but not once does he acknowledge me. It's starting to occur to me that maybe this isn't the best of ideas, but nevertheless I decide to hang around and see where this goes—even if I know this relationship is irreparable. "Stanley," I mutter, hoping he heard my voice.

His voice is croaked, but at least he responds. "Kyle Broflovski, I've been looking for you," he replies coolly. "Do you think we could talk outside, maybe?—only for a little bit, though, I promise you." He sways in his chair, the alcohol slowly getting to him, but I suppose he's got enough of a hold on his senses to know what he's saying, at the least… I think.

"I'm told that'd be a good idea," I say weakly, and flashing him a smile I lead him outside once more, passing by a smirking Kenneth as he walks into the building. I'm only hoping that things work out, though, as I stare at the clouded sky, I wonder if I even really wanted to repair things….

**Still  
**_Zakuyoe  
_Chapitre Trois: Proving Homophobia  


I'm surprised to find myself sprawled on my bedroom floor the very next morning, and though my body clearly wants to return to the peaceful slumber I was once in, the alarm clock shows no mercy on the other side of the room. I scowl in the darkness but reluctantly get up to turn the alarm off, yet knowing that another ring will reverberate shortly after I decide to fall back onto my bed to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

But I manage to catch nothing. In fact, I'm the one who's caught.

"Morning, sunshine," a familiar voice whispers hotly yet still softly into my ear. Out of shock and surprise I recoil and immediately find my way off the bed, but granted that glint and smirk on his face—that expression I could recognize any day, even in the darkness of the room—I know exactly what's going through his mind.

"I'm _not_ homophobic!" I exclaim in defense, but the raven-haired boy only continues his hardest to climb out of bed, all the while chuckling.

"You know me too well, Broflovski," he says quietly before emitting quite the yawn. Stan's not a morning person, apparently.

"Since when had we been on surname terms, Marsh?" I ask, chuckling. Then, on a completely different note, I continue. "Dude, did I _let_ you sleep over last night or something?" Stan merely shrugs, getting off as he pulls off his shirt and hobbles his way over to my closet. Per my mother's suggestion Stan has his own section in my closet for his things, given that he sleeps over so many times it's not worth the hassle; yet half the time Stan doesn't even recognize his own clothes and consequently wears mine instead.

I repeat my question once he's changed, and he frowns. "You don't remember?" he asks me, and I shake my head. "Yeah," he confirms, nodding his head with a sigh. "You let me stay over because Shelley was after my head last night."

"What for?"

"Don't remember." He chuckles foolishly as I raise an eyebrow. "Um… do you think we should start getting ready for school, then?"

"Seems you already are," I tell him, nodding at his clothes. "But yeah, I suppose I could change…." With a roll of his eyes he scoffs, removing himself from my closet as I step inside. As expected Stan's pajamas are tossed carelessly on the floor, so I pick them off the floor.

They smell—but not in a number two kind of way.

"Gross, dude!" I exclaim, tossing them out of my closet and in front of his feet. Granted that any guy would recognize that smell, but I didn't exactly want to think about that kind of stuff… really….

"How long does it take to get dressed?" the raven-haired boy asks, stepping over his thrown pajamas but remaining at the closet's doorframe. "It's been like"—he glances at his watch. "—ten minutes already, and you've only got a shirt off. A tortoise could undress faster than that." I scowl under my breath as he stares at his watch again. "If you're not ready in, oh say, ten minutes, I'm leaving you."

I sigh. "Oh right, you're taking me… fine, I'll get ready. But, err, could you… leave and close the door?"

Stan smirks, and before he speaks I already know what's coming. "Why, too homophobic to have a guy in the same room as you while changing? Or is that just totally too gay for you?"

"Shut the hell up," I shout with a laugh before closing the door shut right in his face, moments later hearing my alarm clock going off as a result of the snooze button. "You know, though," I mutter to myself as I collect an orange polo shirt from a clothes hanger, "a tortoise wouldn't have much trouble undressing. He'd just have to step out of his shell…."

-

"…You're being homophobic again," Stan warns me as I finish my sentence. We're in our school's cafeteria, during lunch, and the four of us are sitting at our table. Granted that Wendy's off taking care of some school-related business, or otherwise there'd be five; but for now we were safe from a large dose of estrogen….

I scowl. "There's nothing homophobic me not wanting to bring a bar of soap to P.E.!" But then, as Kenny enters a fit of giggles, I can't help but to frown. "Isn't there?"

"Dropping the soap bar…" Stan sighs. "Now how to explain _that_ one…."

"Don't bother," I reply, taking a large scoop of lettuce and stuffing it into my mouth. "I only mentioned it because I'm allergic to that stuff in bar soap and the P.E. coach requires us to shower before and after class. Nothing to do with me being homophobic or anything."

"Relax; I had to do it too… I know what you're talking about." From his little corner Kenny is laughing, and I'm more than grateful that Cartman's not speaking at the moment. "You know, dude, one day I'm gonna have to prove to you _somehow_ that you are, in fact, homophobic. You keep denying it, but it's so fucking obvious that it's so amusing."

"For the last time, dude, I'm _not_ homophobic," I exclaim, shaking my head. "How many times do I have to say it to convince you, seriously?"

"You know," Kenny mutters, and I can only imagine what he's about to say, "If you aren't homophobic as you say you are, why do you freak out so much when people consider you and Stan a gay couple?"

"I…I…" I stutter, but nothing comes to me. It's not that I'm bothered by people calling me that, it's just… well okay, maybe I _am_ bothered by it, but not because I hate homosexuality… right?

"Yep, you're definitely homophobic," Stan concludes, pursing my almost-open lips with his finger before I can say anything. "I'll prove it to you one day, dude."

He leaves before I can further my argument.

-

"I'll say it once and I'll say it again!" I exclaim, shutting my ears. "Rap. Is. Crap!"

"Hey, I don't insult your music!" Stan snaps with a pout. "Though of course, you don't really _listen_ to music to begin with…." I sigh, shaking my head as we pull away from the school. It so happens that today the both of our parents are going to attend a meteor shower party somewhere, and though normally they take us with them (mind you, "taking us" only means they'll stuff us in the basement with some freakish other kids) the two of us had managed to opt out this time. Consequently Stan made plans for the two of us to sleep over at his place, but we had to make a temporary stop at my place to get both my things and his stuff he left behind.

"I told Wendy you forgot everything about your date with Bebe last night," Stan says, speaking over his radio. "Don't think it was the best of ideas, though, because she told me to tell you that Bebe won't let you off the hook."

I shrug. "Okay, dude. That doesn't sound that bad."

"When I say it, it doesn't," he corrects. "With Wendy's tone I felt scared to be in your shoes." I scoff at him, though I do know how Wendy can be sometimes… blasting a substitute teacher into the sun and all…. "So anyway, how was your day?"

"You sound like my mom," I inform him, though the lack of laughter tells me he was probably being serious. "Fine, I guess. Avoided Bebe all day, you know. But Kenny kept congratulating me, but I dunno why."

"Yeah, he's like that sometimes," Stan says, shrugging as he changes the radio station. "I didn't like the song," he explains to me afterward, and as he puts his hand back to the wheel I can't help but to laugh at the stupidity of this current song, too. "Anyway, congratulations, dude!"

"For what?"

"Dunno. I can't congratulate you for the heck of it?" I chuckle, though I'm not sure why, but it disappears once we arrive at my house. My parents' car is still in the driveway, telling me that they haven't left yet; but even if they weren't home Stan would probably have still parked in the street as he always does. "You've got ten minutes to get our stuff."

"_Our_ stuff?" I ask. "Hell no dude. I'm not getting your things."

"Aw, but come on!" he whines, but I don't give in. Walking away from the scene proves the easiest way to end an argument, as I found out earlier at lunch, and, soon enough, I hear Stan's footsteps trailing mine some distance behind me. Granted that I probably would've gotten his stuff anyway, but he really didn't need to know that part….

"Geez, your stuff's all over the place," I mutter as soon as I walk into my room. Frankly put I don't remember there being such a huge mess sprawled across my floor, but I suppose the time of day may've influenced that somehow.

"Not my fault I'm not a neat person," Stan mumbled, kicking his belongings to the center of the floor. "Hurry up and get your stuff while I go put this in the laundry."—granted, of course, that those clothes would find their way back into my closet and, hopefully, in the right place. "Hey dude, don't forget to bring a towel."

I pause for a second, as if expecting someone to say something, but when I hear nothing I question Stan. "Why?"

"For taking showers with, dumbass." He scoffs and dumps his clothes into the bin at my room's entrance. "I don't have a pool or anything."

"Right… I knew that."

"Unless you wanted to share one with me and all," he adds with a smirk, though I know what kind of reaction he's looking for.

So I don't give it to him. "You do smell nice, Stan, but I think I'll bring my own thanks." He nods approvingly, and even though I don't see a sign of dejection on his face I know I'd won that round. Really, I wonder if anyone will ever believe me when I say I'm not homophobic….

"Ready to go?" asks Stan, and I nod. "Cool, let's head out." Together we walk out of my room, past my newspaper-reading father and my mother who's cooking, and as we return to his car I take one last glance at my house.

"Stan…?" I ask aloud, though I'm not sure why I'm asking him. "Whatever happened to Towelie, do you know?"

"Not sure, why?"

I frown. "Just curious."

-

"Poor Ike," I mutter, looking at Stan's dining room clock. From what I can see it's only seven o' clock, which means my brother Ike would still have to endure many hours of suffering in that hideous basement…. "At least we opted out."

"Yep," Stan replies, reaching into one of their cabinets. "Mac and cheese fine?"

"Sure," I reply, walking up to him. "You don't need any help with that?"

"Nah, just sit down and I'll be done in a sec." We stare at each other for a couple of seconds, but in the end I relent, walking back toward my seat at the dining table. I knew this place too well, so well it actually scared me. I knew the clock didn't sound like it was supposed to every hour, I knew that the third and fifth steps of their stairs creaked—I even knew that there was a key to Shelley's room (though it opened all of them, at the time the two of us were only concerned with her room) in the third drawer of the upstairs bathroom counter, hidden inside a used toothpaste bottle.

"Why do we celebrate meteor showers, anyway?" I ask aloud, frowning as I tap my fingers against the table. "I mean, there's really nothing special about them."

"That I can agree with you on," Stan says. "You know, unlike yesterday when you kept saying there wasn't anything special about the first snowfall."

"But there isn't," I reply, standing up. "The only thing I got out of it was a date I don't even remember half about." He smiles smugly at me as he carries two plates to the table, setting one in front of me before sitting down. Instinctively I dig my fork into the food and begin eating, not even waiting for Stan to finish praying, but it at least gives me the chance to compliment him before he starts. "It's good."

"Thanks," he says before taking a fork into his own bowl. "Hey, if you really wanted to know, you didn't miss much. It's kinda funny, though, how you barely remember any of it, really…." He pauses to eat, and I do the same. "Basically we went to a restaurant and talked."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much. Watching the two of you was really amusing though. She kept talking on and on, and you'd only just nod your head and make some random comment here and there." Stan shrugged and set his fork down. "If you weren't interested in her, why didn't you just say so?"

"Dunno," I reply. "Actually I kinda agreed for your sake. No, no, not in _that_ way…." I raise my hands defensively at his cocked eyebrows. "Like, I only went because I'd have company and whatnot…."

"I get you," he replies. "No need to be defensive about it, though. I understand perfectly what you mean; nothing gay about it." I shake my head but sigh, deciding to let that one go. I know he's trying to prove I'm homophobic, but… maybe I should be trying to prove my case….

"So," I manage to say after eating another scoop of my meal. "After dinner I challenge you to an all-out pillow fight. Winner gets the bed."

"You're on."

-

"But-but!"

"No buts about it!" I exclaim in triumph, raising one final pillow into the air. "I get the bed." From the floor Stan looks defeated—because he is—and though he's lost he's wearing an expression that only suggests the altering of the outcome. "I earned it, I must say. You were playing dirty there, Marsh."

"My room!" he utters half-coherently.

"I'm a guest?" I say with a laugh before picking up the many pillows on his bedroom floor. Not really in an attempt to clear it, though, as that would take at least two years to do, but in an attempt to have something to use for sleeping… though with Stan on the floor, he'd probably need some pillows of his own. "There're five pillows, so for your sake I'll give you three. Fair?"

"Not at all," he whines, reaching over to the light switch. With a large leap I collapse onto his bed, smiling at how comfortable it feels—and how it's nothing like the floor Stan's on. Still, as the light turns off, I try my best to not rub it into his face…. "Hey… Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"There was another thing I forgot to tell you…. You know how earlier I was telling you about a message Bebe relayed to her to me to you?"

My tired mind spins for a bit, but it's not long before I comprehend what he's said. "Yeah, dude. You said I should be scared about the whole ordeal. Why?"

"There was something… something else… I forgot to tell you." I roll my eyes, given that he's already made that clear, but since in the dark he can't see my expression I encourage him to continue. "About that same time… Wendy and I broke up."

The news definitely shocks me, but I try my best to not make any noises suggesting it. You'd think as a best friend I'd know what to say to a friend who's been rejected by his on-and-off girlfriend for the fifth time at the least, but yet I don't really know…. "Err…" and I suppose stuttering wouldn't be much help to him either, but there really isn't anything I can say, really.

"No hard feelings, dude," Stan says, which shocks me all the more. Normally Stan becomes what our school calls… Goth, emo, along those lines… after a break-up with Wendy. Unless, of course…. "I broke up with her this time, so I've got no regrets or anything like that."

"That's a relief," I reply with a chuckle, relieved that I don't have to deal with another suicidal Stan. "Any particular reason why?"

"Well, err…" and his hesitation is a clear sign I shouldn't have ask. Still, even when I assure him I don't have to know, he insists. "No, no, dude, I _want_ to tell you… need to, rather."

"Are you sure?" I ask, and I can hear him shift his position on the floor. "If you're not ready I completely understand."

"Of course I am," Stan snaps. "Otherwise I would've broken up with her later and not now." I frown in the darkness, completely confused at what Stan's getting at, but if I had thoughts things couldn't be any more confusing… they were. "I love you, Kyle."

I snort. "Ha, ha, Stan. Very funny. If you're expecting me to be completely spastic in all my homophobia I won't do it. For the goddamn last time, Stan, I'm _not_ homophobic, and I don't think now should be the time to prove that I am, especially since the two of you just—"

"No, that's just it, Kyle," Stan says firmly, and my eyes grow wide with the truth. "I broke up with her because I love _you_, Kyle Broflovski."

_**- fin -  
**__(for now)_

_**- Zak -**_


	4. An Aftermath Before Disaster

There's a certain chill in the air as my fingers wrap around the cold metal. It's cold to the touch, but I barely register it, and within seconds I've got the door extended as far as it'll swing. My free hand extends, leading the way for my companion, and once Stanley's walked through the open door I quickly release it.

The first snow has already left a nice, little layer, which Stanley takes as an invitation to leave his footprints wherever he can. For amusement's sake I try following him in his footsteps—but it seems my feet are much too large.

When he stops, I fall into him.

But he doesn't seem to care. He sways on the spot, seeing my amused face before collapsing with me. I think it's the alcohol that's doing it, but I make no mention of it, and though I quickly stand up, I've already taken in the second's warmth of being near him.

"Why'd you stop for?" I ask foolishly, standing beside his head.

He looks up at me, a foolish grin plastered on his face. "I dunno. I felt like it." He stares at me from the top of his forehead. "Why am I out 'ere again?"

I laugh, bending over to a crouch. "You don't remember?" I ask curiously, flicking his forehead.

"Ow…."

"I'm the one with the memory problems, not you."

And at this, his facial expression finally shows some emotion. "_You_ have memory problems?"

I stare at his head for a few seconds. His breath smells bad… it _is_ alcohol. "…never mind. You wouldn't be questioning me if you weren't drunk."

"But I don't _get_ it, Kyle," he continues, an awful slang in his voice. "You hap memory lost? And what're we doin' 'ere?"

I inhale a breath—this is what I wanted, wasn't it?—yet here I am, hesitating to commit the action. Was it because Stanley was drunk?—was it because I wanted him to have some sort of common sense, when I wanted this incident to happen?

"…no reason, Stanley," I say at last, letting myself fall onto him once more. "We're just… here."

**Still  
**_Zakuyoe  
_Chapitre Quatre: An Aftermath Before Disaster  


The first thing I hear as I step onto campus is Bebe's shrill voice.

"_Kyle. Broflovski_!" she screams, and I bury my face in my books. She's really not the person I want to see at the moment, especially since I'm already running late to class. If it hadn't been for Stan getting to my house so late….

But even worse for me is the awkward car rides we've been having lately. Though, I'm thinking that's all because of me, but it's unnerving when I'm even afraid to look in his direction; why couldn't I just forget about everything that happened that night?—why wouldn't it be just like my date with Bebe?

…and that brings me back to the present. An entirely pissed off cheerleader.

"Have you been _avoiding_ me?" she asks the second she catches up with me. "Kyle, _look_ at me!"

I find myself being turned on the spot, the two books once in my arms now flying to the ground. I don't think Stan was joking at _all_ when he said Bebe was a woman to fear.

…or did he say that about Wendy? Either way, though, both scare the living hell out of me.

"Kyle," she says, with her voice a bit more calm now; "Kyle, what was with you that night, on our date? You seemed so—"

"Blank?"

She shakes her head. "…different." She folds her arms across her chest. "If you didn't find me interesting, you could've just been honest from the start."

"I…" but I have nothing to say. Does she know my incapability of remembering anything that night?—I decide to find out.

"Wendy's told me," she snaps, "and I don't find it funny that you need such a fucking lame excuse like that to tell me you aren't interested in me."

"I'm being serious, though," I saw, crestfallen. "It's like… I dunno, like I was asleep or something."

She raises an eyebrow. I think I'm just digging a hole for myself, at this point.

"Unconscious," I quickly add, but she still doesn't seem convinced of my story.

"Kyle… I'm going to go." She looks at me with half a smile, but her eyes are in tears. I don't understand why she's crying though; did she really have _that_ much of an interest in me?

I watch her go before I pick up my books. What a shit hole I'm in, really…. But I quickly push this to the back of my mind as I hightail my way to class, hoping I'm not late….

I am, of course. I've earned tardy number three.

"Late again?" asks Mr. Bennett, shaking his head. "Kyle, please get to class on time."

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just that Stan—"

"—picked you up late again?" his teacher finishes, and I nod. "Kyle, if your friend is seriously that much of a problem, why don't you consider finding yourself new transportation to school?"

"I plan to," I reply, though I'm not sure how truthful my answer is. Mr. Bennett stares at me for a few seconds before shooing me to my seat, continuing in talking about atomic radii.

Maybe if I _did_ get new transportation to school… maybe I could avoid all the awkward moments with Stan.

-

The rides home are painful. More so than the rides to school, because at least our fatigue is a sufficient reason to remain quiet. Yet going home we're completely awake and alert, and there's no excuse. I feel like I have to watch every move I make, as if I might send off the wrong signals. And while I still have no idea if he's kidding or not, I don't want to… give him false hope?

But it's Stan… and it shouldn't have to feel this awkward. I mean, after all, I'm _not_ homophobic… right? And even if I were, wouldn't Stan just be laughing by now? Shouldn't my awkwardness be enough to tell him he's proved a point?

Unless… unless he was being serious?

"I won't be able to bring you home tomorrow," Stan mutters quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I've gotta stay after…."

I frown. "For?"

He mumbles something, though I don't catch it immediately. I ask him to repeat; he doesn't. "Stuff," he says instead, though I know that is _not_ what he had said originally. "You can find your way home, right?"

The honest answer? No, not at all. Kenny doesn't drive, and Cartman's too much of a selfish bastard to drive me home. All other methods of transportation don't really appeal to me. Instead, however, I reply with an affirmative answer: "Yeah, I suppose I can."

"I'm sorry," he adds quickly, though the tone in his voice doesn't agree.

"It's fine."

Silence.

I really hope this doesn't last forever. It's just… I don't know how to react. If he isn't kidding, I don't want to act so normally as to pretend to not have acknowledged his confession; if he is kidding, then… well… I dunno. But I hope this doesn't last forever, because having Bebe and Stan against me isn't really helping my case at—

"We're here," Stan says simply. And true to his word, we're parked outside my house.

I stumble for the proper words to say. "Are you… will you… can you pick me up tomorrow, still?" I look up to him, and though he isn't looking at me he's wearing a bemused expression. Maybe he _is_ just kidding around with me…?

"Yeah, definitely."  
He even smiles faintly.

"Okay," I mutter, gripping the door more tightly. "Then… I guess I'll see you tomorrow…?"

"Yeah, suppose so…."

Silence.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Silence. Then a door shutting close. Then Stan driving off.

Silence again.

-

That night comes to me in my dreams again.

I really wish I wouldn't remember that night. I wish it could be one of those many things I randomly happen to forget. Hell, I'd rather remember the date with Bebe. But there really isn't much I can do about it, now, and I'm forced to relive the night once more.

It always starts with him telling me he's broken up with Wendy.

"Wendy and I broke up. No hard feelings, dude. I broke up with her this time, so I've got no regrets or anything like that.

"That's a relief. Any particular reason why?"

"I love you, Kyle Broflovski."

"Very funny. If you're expecting me to be completely spastic in all my homophobia I won't do it. For the goddamn last time, Stan, I'm _not_ homophobic, and I don't think now should be the time to prove that I am, especially since the two of you just—"

"No, that's just it, Kyle. I broke up with her because I love _you_, Kyle Broflovski."

Silence. I'd stared at him for centuries, maybe, half-expecting him to break into laughter. But when no such had occurred…. "Stop, Stan, seriously…."

"You're hurting my feelings, Kyle," he had said with a dramatic effect. It hadn't helped much that he was taking everything so lightly…. "Daggers, right here. Look at the damaged wounds of—"

"Stan…. Be honest with me…." A pause. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes," he'd said a little too quickly.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, Kyle…."

"I… I… I dunno…. I don't know what to say, Stan. I… I'll sleep over it…. Call it a night. Good night, Stan."

And that was it. I'd woken up immediately at that point; I woke up tonight at that same point. And the problem was that I never really got back to him on that…. I spent the next morning avoiding the subject; I grew increasingly quiet around him. It was like we had silently agreed to drop the subject… even though he's probably waiting for me to—

At that moment it hits me. A delayed epiphany, yes, but that's beside the point. He's still waiting for my reply….

I'll do it tomorrow. I'll do it when he picks me up. I'll get things straightened out.

-

Of course, I don't have the nerve to do it on the car ride to school.

Nor the time, really. In fact, I spend the majority of the car ride freaking out. After all, that would mean getting my fourth tardy…. Even in the parking lot, even during the walk to school grounds, the air between us is awkwardly silent.

I'm not late to my first period class, at least.

But the day goes on with me trying to figure things out. The objective is to tell Stan I can't reciprocate his feelings. The problem is that I don't know if he's being serious, and that I don't know how to break it to him without sounding so anti-homosexual. And the solution…?

I'm at a loss.

So instead I find Wendy. Granted that she isn't mad at me, I hope she'll at least give me some answers….

I take the opportunity during lunch. She's sitting with Bebe and their friends when I approach her, and though she seems slightly hesitant to come with me she ultimately does so. Of course, most of the opposition to follow me comes from Bebe, who seems to be tossing daggers at me with her eyes, but Wendy assures her enough for her to keep calm.

Though, admittedly, at this point I'd rather have to deal with Bebe than Stan. Not to mention that he's Wendy's ex-boyfriend and I look rather suspicious taking her outside to talk alone.

"Look," Wendy says in a hushed whisper, "if this has anything to do with Bebe, I can't help you. She's entirely convinced that you're—"

"Not Bebe," I say quietly, turning away. "Stan." There's a silence between us, long enough for her to register my words. For a split second I begin to worry; was he a taboo word around her? I hadn't even thought of that, though everything seems to be okay when she opens her mouth to speak.

"What about him?"

"Well, er, he's… he's told me something, and I'm not sure exactly how to react to it." She frowns at me, probably confused at what I've said. But there really isn't any way to tell her more of the situation without actually revealing it….

"What, exactly?" she asks, her tone changing into something slightly more bitter.

"Er, nothing really. Just something shocking…. I feel obligated to… I dunno; _explain_ to him my views on the matter, maybe? Something close to that. But I don't know how to approach him, and I figured you knew him best…."

She scoffs. "As if. Of all people, _you_ should know him best. You're his best friend. If I knew him best I would've seen that breakup coming! But _no_, instead he tells me…."

"Tells you what?" I ask, but she doesn't finish. It takes her a while to respond, her eyes darting everywhere except to my own.

"Just corner him," she says, and her glowers in my direction. "Only way to force something out of him."

"But—" but I know she's done. Her voice, her expression… that's her final word.

-

I'm not sure why, but something compels me to bring his body back inside.

He looks dead in my arms—but I know he isn't; he'd probably just passed out from the cold and the alcohol. Yet the way he's laying there… it feels like I'm responsible for him. And to think it had been me to lie on him, yet somehow he's the one who ended up using me. And though I have so much to say to him… all the collected frustration I had for him seemed to have just… disappeared.

He's a fully grown man, yet it amuses me to see him passed out like this. And maybe that's the reason I do take him inside, because I can actually take care of him for once, without him having to ruin anything….

The second I open those doors, Wendy comes rushing up to me with a worried face. She looks at me desperately, but she doesn't seem happy when I give her a reassuring smile. We quickly set him into a couch and immediately she begins to check for his vital signs.

"What happened to him?" she asks disbelievingly, and I tell her. "He's passed out? Oh god, I hope he's okay…." I wait with my arms crossed; I still don't think all this is really necessary. Yet she insists and continues with checking his pulse, and in the process she's accumulated quite the crowd.

"Is he okay?" a blonde woman asks curiously, placing an arm around Wendy.  
Bebe.

"He's fine; he just passed out." Bebe nods, and in the process she catches my eye briefly. There's no anger; only distaste. She quickly looks away, as do I, and their conversations continue as I heave a sigh.

"He's fine," Wendy says after some time, once the crowds have cleared away. There're only three other people left: me, Bebe, and Kenneth. "We'll just… let him rest, I guess."

"Someone's gonna have to take him home," Bebe points out. "Does anyone know how he got here?"

"He drove here," Wendy replies, shaking her head. "There's no way he can drive himself home."

And then… I say it. I'm not sure what willed me to do it, yet I find myself opening my mouth, uttering words, getting everyone's attention….

"I'll take him home."

They all look at me like I'm insane. Wendy and Kenneth have good reason too; I don't remember if Bebe knows anything about my past with Stanley. Yet my volunteering seems quite shocking to them, as if the idea were too absurd to even consider. Yet Wendy smiles at me, and she gives me her nod of approval.

"You're not coming back with me, then?" Kenneth asks, to which I nod silently. "Remind me before the party's over, or else I'll probably wait in the parking lot for you."

"Becoming more and more like me now, are we?" I ask with a snicker, and he smirks. Even as everyone goes their own separate ways, I linger around Stanley for several moments, staring at his unconscious form, smiling at his vulnerability….

I heave a sigh. Even now, everything's still the same.

_**- fin -  
**__(for now)_

_Fuck, so I definitely got 32 reviews when I asked for 28. I'm sorry I haven't updated this in so fucking long. And to think it isn't even the best I've done. . . . My apologies._

_It's also a rather short chapter, compared to the other ones of this story. _

_On a happy note. . . **I got accepted to USF's Fall 2008 term!** I'm so psyched!_

_And I'm in dire need of a beta. _

_Thanks so, so, so, **so** much to **Marina.Sweden**, **milkshakehobo**, **-Iaabi'Sabel**, **Audri**, **barbara**, **kennylover98**, **accountabilibuddy**, **happyhappyhappy**, **guh** (sigh, even if it was a flame), **Ren85**, **Nyrehtak**, **Anonymous Void**, **yellowrose**, **Salli W. Rye**, and **Phoenix II** for reviewing last chapter! Damn, damn, that was a helluva reviews, and I feel absolutely shitty for not posting this sooner. And who knows, no one will probably read this anymore._

_But hey, I hope you guys do review, though. It'll make my Euphoria from my acceptance all the more larger. Free euphoria and cookies to all! _

_**- Zak -**_


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